


Sweet Nothings Without The Sweet, But Full of The Nothing.

by West_Coast_Moper



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Cheating, Dysfunctional Relationships, Friends With Benefits, Heartbreak, M/M, Minor Violence, Pining, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-16
Updated: 2015-11-16
Packaged: 2018-05-01 23:37:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5225543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/West_Coast_Moper/pseuds/West_Coast_Moper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Come on make it easy."</p><p>"Say I never mattered."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweet Nothings Without The Sweet, But Full of The Nothing.

"Y'know," Pete started, eyes locked onto the swish of black coffee within his cup, resembling a void itself. "I think you and I have a lot more in common than I thought we did." Patrick looked up from his phone, eyes half lidded and hand clenched around a cup of chilled water, overwhelmed with ice.

 

"What're you on about?" He asked, voice a slur, rough and gruff, still getting over the hangover, Pete silently observed. The older kept his eyes on his drink, stirred it a bit, clenched his jaw a tad before he looked up at Patrick with stone cold eyes.

 

A weak laugh left him as he said "Nobody ever likes us...unless they change us." Simply said. Smooth and low, except for the fact that his voice sounded grated, raw, almost as if he's sick...Maybe he is.

 

Patrick studied him for a long moment, previously hard and salty eyes dulled down to a tender blue. "After all we're only bitter and dull," Pete mumbled into his cup after a couple of seconds, taking another toss of the lukewarm liquid.

 

The tender blue is now bleeding with a broken up ache of concern. Pete didn't need pity, nor did he want it. At least not from his abuser, that is. The worry left as fast as it came, barely a minute, barely a god damn second. He didn't know why he bothered being disappointed.

 

A small chuckle left the younger, quiet enough to be deciphered as a sigh, forced enough to be considered fake. "I've always liked my coffee black." Pete always liked it when Patrick told the truth, but he didn't seem to get what he liked all that much nowadays.

 

"I've always liked mine real," Pete replied cold and sharp, as if he wanted it the words to be a knife slick enough to slice through Patrick like smooth butter. The latter stared at him, pursed his lips and then asked through gritted teeth. "What do you mean?" But from the look of Patrick, he knew all too well. Possibly more than Pete gave him credit for.

 

Pete gave a thin grin, tapped his finger against the tabletop in an odd pattern before he said. "I think you can go one day without the meaning to my words." It's audible, but only just. It's laid out to hurt, yet Patrick isn't fazed the slightest. "You'd only tell me lies."

 

"That's rich coming from you." That was only stating the obvious, Pete's crystal clear most of the time. However some people prefer looking in the darkened corners. As if that's where the demons hide. Why don't people ever consider that they're in fact the demon's themselves?

 

The frown sent his way seemed to be sharper than everything said throughout this little table discussion, if you could call it that. He felt the urge to apologize come faster than the words themselves. "I -"

 

"You're right."

 

***

 

Pete could say at the least he was angry, whether it was about Patrick showing up at three am the night beforehand, or maybe it's because he was completely shitfaced drunk. Wasted and swaying as if he's attempting to do the waltz at the foot of the door to bassist's room.

 

Pete opened his mouth to say something, probably ask who the hell Patrick thought he was, but he's cut short. Interrupted by the way two hands grabbed at his shoulders, squeezed hard and painful enough to force a choked whimper from the back of his throat.

 

"Patrick--fuck, let go," Pete grunted, clawing at said hands practically glued to his body. He'll disregard the fact that an under the influence Patrick is stronger than a sober him. "Patrick," he hissed, on a hard breath, not realizing the other was stumbling forward until there's lips pressed against his neck. A sloppy kiss to remember just beneath his jaw.

 

He was tired of this, exhausted from the constant guilt, touches, lies, pain--hurt. But he let Patrick maneuver him, push him, shove him until the back of his knees hit the mattress behind him and he was falling back into the sheets.

 

The hands formerly placed on his shoulders were now coiled around his wrists, locking them in place and pinning him to the bed. "Old habits die hard," Pete thought when he strained against Patrick, testing the strength of his hold. As predictable as always he could hardly move a muscle. "Old habits die hard," his brain resupplied.

 

Maybe that's why he wasn't saying no, wasn't resisting Patrick. It almost seemed as if he was beckoning Patrick forward with a jerk of his hips, or the way he threw his head back, baring his throat in a sultry allure. The only sound that escaped Patrick was a low animalistic growl at the sight. A predator to it's prey.

 

Pete swallowed thickly when Patrick's nose grazed his collarbone, took a deep inhale of his scent, and then continued moving upward. A light brush of lips to the base of his throat, another peck to the line of his jaw, and then a scrape of teeth, before a bite. A bite. On the side of his neck, teeth placed precisely on the skin of a faded bruise.

 

It was rough, it was painful, and it was relentless. A gasp left Pete as a dark chuckle escaped Patrick. Warm heat spilling over Pete as one hand left his wrists to crawl up his bare chest. Cold fingers that resembled the sensation of icy water hitting his humid skin, drenched with sweat, sending a daze over his brain. He felt dizzy, but that may have been the sickening odor of alcohol in the form of Patrick's breath.

 

This was a mistake, Pete knew that much. He tried to stop it, opened his mouth and tried to protest, but when a finger traced over his nipple he gave a sharp whine, pushed into the touch, bucked his hips into Patrick's, and gave in.  _Gave up._

 

Patrick broke away from his neck to look up, locked eyes with him. The intensity of his gaze sent a shiver up Pete's spine. Pupils dilated, whether it was the liquor, or the pleasure, Pete didn't care.

 

Patrick then ducked his head forward, crushing his lips to the startled bassist's, licked at the seam of his lips, and then forced his way in. A filthy moan erupted from Pete, which turned into a sob when fingers tugged on the piercing connected to said nipple previously traced.

 

Pete's own hands curled into fists when teeth bit hard into his bottom lip. Fingernails dug into his palms as he let out a pained groan. Patrick pulled back and Pete sucked in a deep breath. "Patr -"

 

"Don't talk," he said in a raspy voice, and another whimper bubbled up in Pete's throat from the additional weight put onto his piercing. Another tug, another moan. "All I want to hear from you are your pretty little sounds."

 

And he did.

 

***

 

Pete regretted it, he really did, he felt shame hit him - balloon at the pit of his stomach and it hurt. It's never easy saying no to Patrick...It's difficult to decline the offer when the only time he ever got to hear the other compliment him, fucking worship him is when Patrick himself was balls deep inside of him.

 

"You're gorgeous," Patrick had said in an awed voice, eyelids fluttering and mouth wide open before a beautiful moan spilled from it.

 

"Perfect. Perfect - _so_ perfect," he'd crooned, running his hands up and down Pete's sides. His breath heavy while the rhythm of his hips faltered.

 

"I love you," it was a whisper. A whisper into his ear as if it was just a dirty secret... _or a nasty lie_.

 

Maybe it was the truth.

 

Maybe Pete was delusional.

 

Maybe it was both.

 

***

 

"You want her to find out don't you?!" Patrick demanded, hands fisted into the collar of Pete's shirt. "Why the fuck wouldn't you? You're _jealous_." The words aren't even what hurt Pete, it's the mocking laughter afterwards that truly stung. It taunted him, ridiculed him, and it gnawed at him.

 

His eyes burned, tears prickling at the corners, and Patrick's face is but a blur. Maybe that was for the best. "...Are you crying?" The question is quiet, muttered low beneath breath. He sounded almost remorseful. "...Pete?" A croak of sound. Just a small blink of his eyes and hot tears were dribbling down Pete's cheeks.

 

"What's so wrong about being jealous?" It was a question that left Patrick speechless, but it was not only a question. It was a challenge.

 

"It's as if you think I'm the only one...Or are you forgetting?"

 

The deafening silence of Patrick's response was all Pete needed.

 

***

 

Arms encircled around Pete's waist, yanked him backwards and he felt a chest press up against his back. Warm puffs of air flowing over the nape of his neck as a crisp voice spoke.

 

"Who was he Pete?" The question felt like a dagger impaling straight through Pete's heart. He knew the truth, but a lie is all he could think to supply.

 

"I don't know what you're talking about." The laugh Patrick gave made a shudder rack through the entirety Pete's frame. "I think you're a liar," Patrick accused, tracing a finger over his raging pulse.

 

"I mean how could you forget?" The hand slid down Pete's body before he could think to answer and seized his crotch, emitting a gasp from him. "I  _saw_ it...He grabbed you  _like_ this," Patrick recounted.

 

"You  _let_ him--you  _enjoyed_ it." His hand gave a harsh rub, while Pete's breath sped up. "You  _moaned_ \--you didn't even  _say_ no," Patrick spat in disgust, now palming him through his jeans.

 

"I knew you were a slut, but I didn't know you were  _this_ bad." His lips curled into a smirk at the soft moan that escaped Pete's lips.

 

"It's funny...even with him you weren't this eager," he murmured, popping the button to Pete's jeans open, before undoing his fly. "I guess I'll have to remind you of just who  _you_ belong to."

 

When did Pete become a possession?

 

He could say he didn't know.

 

...Only that would be a lie.

 

***

 

Their relationship wasn't always messy. _Wasn't_ always dysfunctional. They were best friends. They _were_. But from young reckless mistakes entered a downfall. It was only sex, was only a fling, wasn't ever serious. Pete knew why he agreed, not with words, but with actions. It wasn't like he didn't have a thing for the redhead in the trucker hats with a pretty _pretty_ mouth.

 

He could've said no.

 

He  _could've_.

 

***

 

The door to the bathroom swung open, revealing a Pete dressed in a towel tied loosely around his waist. "I have polished my soul," he crowed in a high voice, eyes set upon the small lump of blankets accommodating a sleepy Patrick from across the room. "I have taken a shower!"

 

A snort left the duvet, signaled by a small wiggle. "One small step for man," the voice yawned. A wide grin pulled on Pete's lips before he said "One giant leap for mankind." A rowdy laugh resonated from the bed, before Patrick sat up and arched an eyebrow at Pete.

 

"Did you lose your clothes?" Pete shrugged with a smirk. "Maybe...Wanna help me find 'em?" The smile on Patrick's face then gave the idea that he was going to comply, until it was completely wiped from his face. A straight line left in it's wake.

 

"It's not Saturday yet," he said quietly, picking at the hem of his shirt. Pete slowly nodded, an ache filling his chest.

 

"Right."

 

***

 

_Saturday._

 

"Dude we should totally skinny dip," Pete said with a toothy grin on his face. Patrick snorted, huddled in a hoodie. "Do you have any idea how cold it is? - No way am I freezing my ass off for your deranged fantasies."

 

"Well then," Pete gave a feigned huff and plopped himself down atop of the sand with a pout. A purposely exaggerated sigh came from Patrick as he sat down besides Pete. "It's nothing personal, but I'd rather not procure hypothermia."

 

"Who even says procure?" Pete retorted, jabbing Patrick in the shoulder, to which the younger grumbled a muted insult, rubbing at the abused area.

 

"Fuck you." Pete laughed at that, placing his chin on his knee as he quietly mumbled "You already did," Patrick doesn't seem to hear it, or maybe he just ignored it as he watched the waves of the water sway back and forth.

 

"Y'know we're gonna have to head back soon - or Joe and Andy are gonna bust a blood vessel searching for our - nearly - frozen asses."

 

"I mean we could share body heat -"

 

" - Pete," Patrick said, interrupting him with a playful glare. "What? It's perfectly reasonable," and that's when it happened he tilted his head, staring at Patrick's cold-flushed face, his blue eyes practically sparkling from the moon light reflecting off of them. Pete just - he couldn't _help_ himself.

 

Patrick turned and arched a brow at him with a frown. "Wha - _mphmm_ -" Cut off when Pete's lips pressed against his own.

 

Pete felt him stiffen for a brief moment and then he pressed back, mouth moving to reciprocate. The slide of their lips was soft and Pete felt a slight warmth in his groin flourishing from the wet noises their mouths produced until Patrick reeled back and shook his head frantically back and forth. "No. No. No. No -"

 

"Patrick - Jesus, calm down, dude," Pete said, attempting to mollify the panicked teenager. " _No_ ," Patrick repeated, glaring, nothing playful about this one. "Pete...We need to set some ground rules..."

 

_Rules._

This wasn't the last time he tried this, tried to kiss Patrick that is - tried, and once again Patrick barely hesitated before he kissed back, until he pushed Pete away - again - with a growl, a grimace, and then a deep scowl.

 

"It's _not_ Saturday," he had said. Pete only thought to respond with was "Fuck Saturday," and Patrick shook his head, hand scrambling behind him to grab at the handle to the door of the van. "The rules Pete."

 

 _The rules_. That was probably the first warning. Real relationships don't have fucking rules...At least not one as stupid as that. Only on Saturdays could they do anything. Jump one another, fuck, ravish, or make out...It didn't matter. They could take it, or leave it, but they had to wait. _Had_ _to_.

 

Pete _had_ to.

 

It was never a relationship in the first place by any means...That was clear enough.

 

***

 

"Do you think I'm pretty?" It wasn't a serious question, merely curiosity within the words, as Pete traced his fingertip across the glass window in arbitrary patterns, tongue stuck out as he focused on his masterpiece of what seemed to consist of circles and squares.

 

A nervous giggle filled the van, which Pete turned his head at. His curiosity bloomed at the light flush that littered Patrick's cheeks.

 

"Um, dude? You alright?" The same giggle returned, before Patrick asked "What kind of question is that?" His head was ducked, eyes downcast, pointed directly on his shoes that were shifting back and forth, scraping over the stained flooring of the van.

 

"Dunno...Just...Curious." Pete drawled, prodding Patrick in the shoulder. the latter snapped his head up, eyes widened and mouth open ready to answer. A croak came out of it before he covered it up with a cough. "I mean...yeah I guess - like you're attractive, or whatever."

 

"Or whatever," Pete mocked, swaying a bit as he gave a brief grin. "Back to my artwork." Patrick narrowed his eyes at the window, giving a low "Humph," before he said "Is that a naked guy?"

 

Pete gasped, feigning offense. "Trick I'm not that kind of girl - it's  _clearly_ a square." Patrick snorted and shook his head with a perplexed grin on his face.

 

"You're totally that kind of girl...Dude you can't even trace a square," he told Pete, eyeing up the crooked lines with a raised brow. "The hell am I gonna do with you?"

 

"What ever you want," Pete breathed in a hoarse huff, leaning forward only to be stopped by the palm of Patrick's hand. "Is that a promise?"

 

"If you want it to be...Then yeah it is."

 

" _Good_."

 

***

 

"You're engaged," Pete spoke in a icy tone, hollow inside and out, his eyes cold enough to match. Patrick blanched, his face stricken with panic as he tried to strangle out an appropriate response.

 

"I - look Pete listen - " A growl poured from Pete's lips before he could stop it. "No - how fucking _dare_ you?!" His words came out in a roar of anger. "Why?! - I thought it was temporary - I thought..." He ended off in weak whisper as his eyes went to the floor.

 

A startled noise left Pete when a hand wrapped around his bicep and another around his hip. Tightening over the next few words. "What? You thought what?" The look of Patrick was impatient. His foot a repetitive beat of tapping against the hardwood floor, clearly anxious, while his voice is hopeful, a longing etched within his words.

 

Pete finally looked up, a snarl on his face. No matter how pissed, or hurt he was, he still resisted the urge to spit in Patrick's face, project his current sailor-like vocabulary onto the man and then stomp his way out of the room in a fit of fury. The only thing he did do was hiss out "I don't know what I thought," in a venomous tone, as he fought back tears.

 

All he knew is whatever he previously thought was clearly a joke, it was impractical, just...God. Something else he was sure of is that this girl and him had something quite in common.

 

They were gullible, but Pete knew the truth now...He just didn't know what to do with it.

 

"What happened to you?" What Pete didn't expect was a pained expression from Patrick thrown at him, bottom lip worried between two rows of teeth while the skin of his forehead wrinkled. Patrick took in a shaky breath before a bitter smile graced his lips.

 

"I never changed."

 

***

 

"So what is this exactly?" It came out in a blurt, accidental. An unintentional question that flew out of Pete's mouth that resulted in an odd look thrown his way. A furrowed brow and a crooked grin.

 

"This? What do you mean?" Patrick asked, while Pete scrambled to think of an explanation. He trailed a finger down Patrick's nude chest, a hum flowing from his throat in thought.

 

"This," Pete repeated, rolling his eyes at the same look he obtained. " _This_ ," he said, waving a hand over Patrick's as of then unclothed body with a pointed expression. "Oh," Patrick mumbled slowly. "Yeah..."

 

"Well..." Pete cocked his head in question, brow shooting up when fingers trailed over the back of his thighs. Patrick chewed at his bottom lip, his eyes were dark, half-lidded and hungry. "D-dude, seriously," Pete started, only to gasp when a hand groped at his ass, hard. " _Oh_." Just a simple word, but it was overwhelmed - he was overwhelmed - with so much feeling that Patrick chuckled.

 

"Why label it? You know how much we  _hate_ labels."

 

***

 

"What would you say if I told you I loved you?"

 

"I'd say you were lying."

 

"...Maybe you're right."

 

"Maybe I am."

 

***

 

His chest felt empty, his face burning with embarrassment - shame, at the sight of the silver ring gleaming on Patrick's hand, ring finger - so bright it gave Pete a near squint. Meanwhile Joe and Andy are clapping Patrick on the back with fully fledged grins - _filled with pride._

 

Pete wanted to scream, cry, fight the ring off of Patrick, tear it from his hand and flee to the restroom, flush it deep, _deep_ down...Along with himself, with his impossible fantasy. It's ridiculous really. Why'd he ever think Patrick actually cared about him? Loved him? What because he said it maybe once or twice while they were fucking? What kind of proof is that?

 

He was a fucking idiot.

 

He was still a fucking idiot.

 

Because he was still in love with someone who only knew how to pretend.

 

So Pete bent over, curled his shaky hand around the neck of his bass, whirled around, and left. Shoulders stiffened and jaw clenched with his nose held high in the air.

 

And he swore to himself that he was done. Done with Patrick. Done with it all.

 

***

 

"I'm not gonna be a fucking homewrecker Patrick," Pete snarled, pushing against the hand wrapped cleanly around his throat. A laugh fled from Patrick's mouth as he tightened his hold, causing Pete to squirm and give a hoarse cough. "You didn't have a problem with it before..."

 

Pete managed to collect himself and choke out a swift reply of "Before you proved just how full of bullshit you really are." Another vile laugh rang through Pete's eardrums, another cringe coursed through his body at the sound.

 

"Me? What about _yourself_?--" Patrick's lips curved into a nasty grin before he continued "--'I'm  _done_ ,'" he jeered. "Yeah fucking right."

 

The hand on his neck pressed harder and his vision sparked, red dots filtering throughout his sight before his own hand flew up to coil around Patrick's wrist. "Let _go_ ," he choked out in a weak voice, ignoring the tightening of his jeans - the hardening of his cock. The hand clenched once more. Pete felt as if he was on the verge of passing out until the pressure on his neck left entirely.

 

Pete heaved in a large breath, Patrick's face focusing before his very eyes. A frown was placed upon his face until he gritted out "Why don't you choke on something else?" All Pete could do was stare with wide eyes.

 

Patrick stared back with a bored expression and then moved to leave, cut short when Pete slid down to his knees, palms flattened against the vocalist's thighs as he nuzzled his crotch with a low whine. Patrick let out a soft moan, fingers tangling within Pete's dark strands, pulling hard - _tight_.

 

Pete didn't think about the fact that he's already lost and it's barely been a week.

 

Didn't think about it when his mouth ghosted over Patrick's dick.

 

Didn't think about it when Patrick jerked his hips forward groaning loud and deep, hitting the back of Pete's throat - _fucking his mouth_.

 

Didn't think about it when he moaned feebly at the filthy words spouting out of Patrick's mouth in distant whispers. Dedicated to _him_.

 

"You were always _so_ good at this - such a fucking _slut_."

 

Didn't think period when his own hand slid down to his denim-layered crotch and squeezed.

 

_Didn't think._

 

***

 

"It's funny."

 

"What?"

 

"I'm the Gemini, but you're the two-faced one."

 

***

 

"C'mon Pete, say it - say you don't want me.  _Say it_ ," Patrick demanded, gripping Pete's hips hard enough to leave marks. His marks. Pete only whimpered, his eyes clenched shut as Patrick snapped his hips forward.

 

"Say you don't want this - say you don't want my mouth - my cock and I'll never touch you again -" A loud sob spilled from Pete's mouth. Not only from the pleasure, but from the thought of Patrick  _leaving_ -  _never_ touching him -  _ever_ \- never ever -  _again_.

 

" _No!_ No - I don't want that - I  _don't!_ " Pete wailed, clawing desperately at Patrick's shoulders. For a sense of purchase. He should've known, should've expected it from the two words Patrick spoke into his ear. Cruel. Cruel.  _Cruel_.

 

" _Too bad._ "

 

***

 

"So that's it? It's over?--What about the fucking band?!" Pete yelled, his arms held out in a widened stance as Patrick stood there, his own arms crossed. "That's it," he spoke quietly.

 

"The  _band_ ," Pete repeated helplessly and Patrick shook his head. "What about the band? We've been together long enough...Maybe it's time to separate...Do our own thing...You said you were done."

 

"But Joe and An--"

 

"I already talked to them about it--they're not happy, but they understand," Patrick said, cutting off Pete's last attempt to stop this from becoming an actual reality.

 

"Oh."

 

"Yeah."

 

"Fine...Just know you'll never see me again," Pete muttered, scraping the heel of his shoe against the plush carpet as Patrick chuckled lightly. "Of course I will--after all we're best friends."

 

A bitter laugh came from Pete's mouth before he nodded. "Yeah, best friends, but don't expect to see me at your wedding." Patrick shrugged in response, a hollow smile on his face to match the emptiness in his eyes. "Don't expect an invitation."

 

" _Oh_ , you can bet your fake ass I  _won't_."

 

***

 

Pete thought about it, thought about how it used to be while he watched Patrick at the mic with a wide grin on his face. Thought about them. Their downfall. "Best friends." Not so much. Not anymore at least.

 

It was stupid, not the situation, but the fact that he seized his own mic and called Patrick out, _provoked_ him. One last _try_. "Hey man, I just got one more thing to end this show with." End _them_. Patrick flashed him a look of confusion.

 

A thin grin in place as Pete inhaled sharply before saying "I love you." Patrick paused in his movement, eyes widened as if he were shocked by the words that have been said so many times. But they didn't matter then...Why would they matter now?

 

Patrick's hands were shaking as he wrapped them around the stand to his mic, sent Pete a somber grin as he said his regular line. It's ordinary, it's expected, and it's familiar - but it's different. The shriek of the crowd within the venue filling Pete's ears as his eyes fluttered shut. The echo of Patrick's voice sent a visible shiver throughout his entire body.

 

"I know."

 

It's apologetic.

 

And it's  _not_ enough.

 

 


End file.
